I hold his gaze even as my pulse goes wild.
Zane’s eyes flash as he leans over me, one hand braced beside my hip, his cock hot and hard against my inner thigh.
I reach for him. My hand closes around his neck, and I pull him down, kissing him hard enough to steal whatever smug thing he is about to say. He groans into my mouth as his body settles over me, skin against skin, heat against heat, the hard weight of him pressing me into the mattress.
I spread my thighs for him.
Then he pushes into me. Inch by fucking inch, he gives me time to feel every bit of him, his jaw tight and his eyes closed.
“Fuck,” he says, a rough sound spilling from his mouth.
He fills me completely and then stays there, buried to the hilt. He opens his eyes and meets my gaze, and for one long, suspended second neither of us breathes.
Then he moves.
His hips roll slow and deep, one hand gripping my thigh, pulling it higher, changing the angle until I gasp and my nails find his arms. He watches my face the whole time, watching every reaction, every shift in my expression, cataloging what makes me arch and what makes me grab him harder, what makes my mouth fall open and no sound come out. He has always paid attention to that.
His thumb finds my clit again, and the dual sensation makes me cry out so loudly that I would be embarrassed if I were capable of embarrassment.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Fuck, Sky, you have no fucking idea how….”
He doesn’t finish that sentence.
Instead, he builds the rhythm, each thrust deeper than the last, his cock hitting somewhere that makes my vision blur, my thighs shake, and my entire body tighten around him in ways I can’t control and stop trying to. His hand grips my hip hard enough to leave a mark and I want that. I want the evidence of this. I want to carrying him into tomorrow when I’m still mad at him.
I bite down on my lip to stop myself from moaning.
As he takes a deep breath, his nostrils flare. There is undeniable intensity in his eyes, as though I am the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
Chapter 11
Zane
“Fuck,” I say, skimming my nose along the column of her throat. “You feel so much fucking better than I remember.”
The words scrape out of me, torn from somewhere too deep to dress up as cocky bullshit. I want to sound in control and to be the man who can still smirk as she comes apart beneath him. The bad idea with the sharp mouth and steady hands.
Skylar’s body shifts beneath mine, hips lifting, taking me deeper, and the moan that spills from her mouth goes straight through my ribs and down to my cock. It is soft at first, then broken, then not soft at all. It becomes the kind of sound that makes a man forget every decent thing he promised himself before he laid hands on her.
My forehead drops to her shoulder for half a second and I breathe her in.
Skin.
Heat.
Sweat.
Her.
Her pussy grips me tight, wet and hot around every inch of my cock, and my whole body locks around the feeling. I have remembered her. Dreamed of her. Tortured myself with her. I have taken myself in my hand in the dark, teeth gritted, hating myself while her name burned behind my eyes.
But memory is a cruel little liar.
Skylar’s nails drag down my back, and pain sparks across my skin. I welcome it. Anything to keep me from losing myself too quickly. From turning this into a hard, desperate mess of need and nothing else.
I pull back enough to see her face. Her hair is spread across my pillow, strands clinging to her cheeks and throat. Her lips are swollen from my mouth and her eyes are half-closed, lashes low, but she is still watching me through them. Still stubborn. Still fighting even as pleasure drags her under.
God, this woman.
